


Moments in time

by AndInThoseMoments



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bullying, Grief/Mourning, It's a Wonderful Life, M/M, Protective Natasha, Rumlow is a dick, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 05:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2761847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndInThoseMoments/pseuds/AndInThoseMoments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Coulson's death, Clint is spiralling into depression, and bullying from other agents is just making things worse.  Natasha tries to show him how he has changed the lives of those around him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moments in time

**Author's Note:**

> I'm afraid this really isn't very Christmassy.  
> Prompt: It's a Wonderful Life AU. With everything falling apart around him--and Coulson supposedly dead--Clint wishes he'd just never existed. Cue his guardian angel, Nat, who shows him the impact he's made on SHIELD...and especially Coulson. 
> 
> Inspired by a gifset on tumblr.

The arrows blurred in front of Clint's eyes as he shot again and again. He'd been at the range since five o'clock this morning, and outside it was getting dark. He didn't care. His entire focus was on the small yellow circle at the very center of the target, almost obliterated now by the number of shots that had been fired.

"Clint?" Natasha's voice didn't pierce through his focus. He continued to aim, attention on the target. His limbs were shaking and his vision was going dark, but that little yellow dot held steady. That little yellow dot was the only thing that he had right now.

Footsteps approached and he didn't hear them. Rumlow's words kept repeating over and over in his mind, almost deafening.

Murderer. Traitor. Failure.

It was true. He'd let Phil down, and he deserved every bruise on his body, hidden under his uniform, and many more besides. He'd killed the one good person in his life, and wasn't that hilarious. Because Phil had been the one person willing to put trust in Clint, when no one else had, and now he had repaid him by stabbing him through the heart.

Always knew that Coulson should have put you down.

It might not have been Clint's hand that struck the fatal blow, but it was him that had set it up. He had destroyed the only good thing he had, killed Phil and a dozen more besides. His expertise had nearly destroyed New York.

No wonder your brother couldn't stand you.

SHIELD should never have let you come back.

You could have fought harder.

Arms around his waist made him flinch, and he was pulled back against Natasha's warm body, felt her press her lips against his forehead. The bow was eased from his grasp and he stood there in her arms, not fighting it. He glanced down at his feet to find that the top of his shoes were spotted with drops of water, and raised his hands to his face to find dried tears.

The arms around his waist held him tighter, and he let Natasha lead him away. He lacked the strength to fight. If SHIELD had realised their mistake, and Natasha was taking him to be killed, he wouldn't fight it. He would welcome it. He had failed, he deserved to be punished. He understood that. Maybe his death would give those he had hurt a little peace.

He was pushed down into a chair in an unfamiliar room, and it took a few moments for him to notice the bank of computers in front of him. Natasha was still there at the edge of his vision. 

He just hoped they weren't going to show him Phil's death. 

The first day, after the battle, after he had eaten, he had watched that. He hadn't been able to keep food down since. Every time he tried, he pictured the look on Phil's face as he had been stabbed. He retched, his shoulders shaking.

Natasha crouched to his eye level. When she spoke, her words were soft.  
"What is it?"  
"If I...If I was gone... if I had never existed... it'd be better. Phil.. Phil died because of me. If I hadn't let Loki in... it was me Tasha. It was me, sure as if I'd..." Words failed him, his body trembling.

Natasha held out a glass of water, looking down at him.  
"Drink. Slowly."

He took the water. He was aware of the drugs SHIELD had developed, ones that would make you tell the truth, ones that would drive you mad or cause pain. He drank it anyway, feeling empty. He deserved worse. He deserved so much worse than they could ever do to him. It was a shame it had to be Natasha, after everything, but he deserved no better.

Natasha watched him silently until he had finished the glass, then leaned in closer.   
"When did you last sleep?"  
Truth drugs then. He wouldn't lie to Natasha, he never had, but it didn't matter. SHIELD no longer trusted him. He couldn't remember the answer though. He had last slept... He swallowed dryly.   
"Loki let me rest for a few hours on the transport before the attack."

Natasha's Russian cursing startled him for a moment, and he looked up at her. She flashed him a smile and he felt himself relaxing. He couldn't help it. She was always kind to him, even when he didn't deserve it.

She leaned over his shoulder, brushing against his arm as she fiddled with a screen. He looked away, and noticed the blood on his hands. His, this time, from how he had shot. It was poetic somehow.

The first video that appeared on the screen was surveillance footage of him in training, when he first met Phil. He saw his younger self, skinny, bruises fading on his sides from his time on the streets. He'd been there a week and already been bounced from two handlers.

He watched a younger Phil step onto the screen. He was young, full of confidence, and Clint felt fresh tears forming in his eyes. He wanted to look away, but he made himself watch every moment of it, because here at least Phil was alive. He saw his younger self turn away, and then the younger Phil reached out towards him. His own shoulder ached at the touch. It had been comforting. It had been the first contact that had felt safe in a long time.

In the video, he pushed Phil away, and Natasha stopped it before his past-self launched into a tirade.  
"Clint..." She started, but Clint shook his head.  
"I let him down." He spat. "I let him down and... I ..." He shuddered. "He deserved better."  
"He wanted you." Natasha said, her voice calm, steady. She changed the scene.

More CCTV. A mission in Helsinki, judging by the cathedral and the snow. He could remember that mission. He had saved three agents when the mission had gone to hell. She showed it for a few seconds, then played another. Qatar, five agents rescued. Chicago. Another six. Berlin, and he had saved Phil's life.

It meant nothing now. If he hadn't been there, another sniper would have been, would have saved them. He had killed.

Natasha seemed to realise it didn't matter, because her tactics changed.

Now the image on the screen was taken just outside of Moscow. He was stood with his bow in one hand and an arrow in the other, and opposite him stood Natasha. She was younger then, her eyes wide with fear, as the him in the film slowly talked her down. That video played for longer, and he started to drift. He yawned as the young woman crossed the snow towards him, and handed over her gun.  
"No one else would have bothered Clint." She said, and he didn't have the brainpower to formulate a counterargument. Natasha was a brilliant agent, the best SHIELD had had, but she needed a chance to demonstrate that. He had just decided to trust his gut, and had been rewarded for it. He still didn't understand the purpose of this exercise. If they needed him on a mission, he could go, but he thought that whoever he was working with would probably spend their time worried he was going to put an arrow into them.

The video changed again. It was Victoria Hand's wedding dance, and the two brides danced in the center, Victoria's head resting against Isabelle's shoulder. The camera panned across the crowd, lingering for a moment on Clint and Phil standing side by side. Clint had been wearing a suit that day, and he looked awkward, but the video caught the moment Phil reached out and touched his hand. He relaxed, and Phil had smiled, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

Clint had expected that to hurt, but it didn't. It was comforting in a way, to see that Phil had been happy before he had been brutally murdered. He wanted to watch more of it. Maybe he could see Phil soon. He was tired, and he was of no use to SHIELD any more. When this was over, he could see Phil. Maybe they'd be buried together, bitter compensation for the marriage they never got to have.  
"Can I ... Can I see more?" He whispered, voice shaking a little.

"Of course." Natasha said, and she looked brighter now, her eyes shining with determination. "You can see more..." She leaned in again, changing clips. Images from his life with Phil flashed up on the screen, bright moments of joy. Their first Christmas together. Their trip to Athens. The time Phil had persuaded him to go to Comicon. Watching them made him feel the first flickers of warmth since the staff had touched his chest.

"Huh." Natasha murmured as she found another clip. Phil was in medical, but while he was normally the model patient, now he was up and pacing the room, gesturing. There were bandages around his chest, and she reached to flick to the next video, but Clint stopped her by grabbing her wrist.  
"Clint?"  
"Look." Clint whispered, pointing towards the time stamp at the top left hand side of the screen. According to the date, this was live.

Natasha left it playing, and they stayed in silence, watching Phil for several minutes before Natasha spoke.  
"We have to find him." She started tracing the location of the camera feed, while Clint tried to understand what he was seeing. Phil was dead. You didn't survive that sort of injury.

Natasha reached for his hand, and Clint let her lead him away from the computer bank. He didn't feel tired. He felt like his heart might burst, but he certainly wasn't tired any more. She broke into a run, and he kept pace, hurtling down corridors.

He froze as they reached a door. It was Natasha who stepped forwards, put her hand on the door handle and pushed it open.

Clint could see the figure in the room, but he couldn't understand it. Phil was dead. He'd killed Phil. Whatever this was, a hallucination or ghost or LMD, it wasn't Phil. Rationally, he knew that.

Rationality didn't seem to have much control over his actions right now. He walked forwards, until the figure came towards him. It smelt like Phil, was warm, was safe, that same safeness he'd felt in their first touch. Phil's hands were in his hair, and he looked up at him. Phil smiled, shaking his head softly.  
"What am I ever going to do with you?" He whispered, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Clint's forehead.


End file.
